Harper Row: World's Greatest Detective (Book 1 - Lethal Injection)
by The Fresh Prince of Gotham
Summary: A SHOW OF DEATH! Fear grips the city of Gotham as a slew of murders springs up out of thin air! A SHOT OF DRAMA! Private detective Harper Row has four days to fight the parasitic plague of Gotham and solve the case but time runs fast! A SULTRY DAME! Is Harper's new client just a regular hotsy-totsy with another case or are her feminine wiles hiding a darker secret?


The Gotham Broadcasting Company presents…

Harper Row, World's Greatest Detective, in her latest caper…

Prepare yourself, Cullen, for I will shortly make my entrance with a tale of toxicity and treachery! The low down and the uptown and all that. Now, if we need a name for it, why not call it…

Lethal Injection!

Murder is a tricky business. You make all the right moves and you've killed several innocent people. One wrong move and it's your head, and no one wants that, except maybe all the souls you've taken. Now, I've no time for criminals, you know that Cullen, but I won't hesitate to say there was one who I had a morbid respect for in the cleanliness of his work. It started the day that dame walked into my office...

Bang, bang, bang!

"Come on, Miss Row. Rent is due!" Guess there's no way around it. She'll damn near break the door down if she has to. I put out the cigarette, adjusted my loose tie and ran my hand through my hair. The one case I can't solve is how cases magically dry up right when I gotta pay rent. I paused at the door. I could just climb out onto the fire escape and wait a few. Ah, too cold. Besides, she's probably seen my silhouette through the translucent glass that had my iron-on office sign. I twisted the doorknob hesitantly and came face to face with my landlady, Mrs. Quinn. I did my best to give a polite smile. "Hiya, Harley." She didn't take the bait. "Yeah, yeah, hiya Harley this, how are ya Mrs. Quinn that, howsabout hiya rent or how are ya money?" I tapped the doorframe sheepishly. "I'm real sorry Mrs. Quinn. You see it yourself, I ain't pulling clients like I used to. What with trying to scrape together what little I have for rent and advertising, I can barely eat. Can't you give me a little more time?" She frowned and poked my stomach. "Hmm... You are lookin' a little skinny these days. Look. Harper. You're a nice girl. One of the best tenants I've had in a long time. You don't make noise, you don't disturb others-"

"You know, it's my job to do those two things exactly."

"AND... You do your best. You make an honest living, IF an unstable one. So here's what. I'm giving you two weeks to detect your rent or you'll be solving cases from under an overpass." I nodded in relief. "Thanks Mrs. Quinn. You're the best." She waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, just don't let it get to your head. You're lucky I like you." I closed the door and leaned up against it for a moment before returning to my desk and sitting down. I loosened my tie again, sighing. I've had a couple of close calls before but none like this. A knock. Mrs. Quinn again? Can't be. A client? Hopefully. "It's open. Mind the smoke." The huskiest voice I've ever heard in my life came from my doorway. "I like the smoke", and a thigh entered, followed by a stunning body in a black dress that you can't help but drag your eyes over. She was an East Asian lady, small, but well-toned, not too far off from my physique, gained from a mix of regular workouts and punching crooks in the face. She was oddly laced with scars, all across any visible skin save for her face, like someone worked her over with a meat cleaver. I don't usually make suspects out of paying clients, but clients don't usually have battle damage this extensive. Still, she was desire on legs and she slid her tempting hips onto my desk, folding one leg over the other, her glittering eyes boring into my soul. I couldn't stop looking at her damneyes. I was about ready to shut down for the night so my blinds were closed and I had just turned my lamp off, and, as a result, the moonlight streaming through my Venetians made her eyes look inky black, yet bright as the stars. I cleared my throat and resisted the urge to tug at my collar and gulp. "How can I help you, miss...?" She pulled a cigarette from its packet and offered me one. I thanked her and she took my lighter off the desk. Her glassy eyes flared with the fire as she leaned down to light hers, then mine. As it turns out, they were a deep brown. "Cain. Cassandra Cain. Cassie will do. Heard I could find a private dick round here." I nodded. "Public dick too. I assume you're here to help me make rent in the nick of time?" She let out a low chuckle. "That, and also save lives. You ever handle a murder...detective?" Some detective. The way she said it, can't figure if she's toying with me or genuinely interested. I pushed the dame out of my mind and sat up. Murders generally pay higher. Sense of urgency and all. "Murder?"

"Several, to be precise. You've seen the spree popping up all over the papers, I'm sure." I nodded. "The Bloodstream Butcher. Victims have black veins, no one knows why. Thought the police had a handle on that, why'd you come to me?" She took a long, thoughtful drag. "Well, I was in the neighbourhood and sensed there was a down on her luck detective in need of rent. Oh, and also this." She pulled a piece of paper out of her bag and pushed it to me. A typewritten note.

11-5-23

I come for Cassandra Cain

\-- BB

There was a small image of a padlock, barely visible in the dark, next to the date. I checked over my desk calendar. "Four days starting tomorrow." She pulled out a wallet. "I suppose you'll need spending money Miss Down On Her Luck?" I laughed. "I warn you, my prices aren't to be trifled with, Miss Killer's Next Victim."

"I can match any price."

"Any?"

"Name yours."

"How about a candlelit dinner and tickets for two at the Gotham Multiplex?"

"Moving pretty fast, aren't wedetective?" That damn tone when she said detective stopped me dead. What dangerous promises lie behind that voice of hers? "Let's start with a grand fifty, see how we feel." A lot steeper than my usual fees but a girl's gotta eat, you understand. Lucky for me, she forked over the clams without hesitation. I almost cried as I set aside the 750 I was going to have to hand to Mrs. Quinn the next morning. "Guess we'd better get started. There's going to be a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of coffee. I hope you're ready for the life of a P.I.s client, doll." I picked up today's paper, ripped off the front page and went over to the wall I use to visualise my thoughts, pasting it up dead in the middle with thumbtacks. I linked the typewritten note with string and grabbed a Sharpie, circling the date and Cassandra Cain. "Help me out here, Cassie. Something the old noggin can't get around. Why "Cassandra Cain"? Why not address you directly? How did you get the note?" She moved from the desk to my ratty couch. "I work as a jazz singer, detective." Figures. "That was given to me by one of my coworkers in a sealed envelope. She said some guy dropped it off, never got a good description of him. Had his hat pulled down low, didn't make eye contact and the like. She assumed he was another creep hoping to get more than they deserved. Once we opened it, my manager put me on leave with pay. Spent the rest of the day searching for a detective, found your ad in the paper and you know the rest." I chewed on my lip, considering my options. She didn't write it. Of course the Butcher would try and stay hidden, but there's also the possibility, minimal as it would be, that her coworker wrote it, as a prank or something more, either one swung fine with me. "Why does he want to get snuggly with you? Aside from two obvious reasons, of course." She took a long drag on the cigarette and let out a husky laugh that drove me wild. "We'd better be talking about my legs."

"What else?"

"Hm. Well, I can't see anything I've done personally. We get a lot of men hanging around to get some tail but we kick em to the curb. Usually, they give a grumble but go home to their wives to whom they are married without further complaint."

"And you think one of them didn't take it as graciously?" She shrugged and puffed and sighed. "That'smybest lead. You're the detective." A valid suggestion. I grabbed the Sharpie and wrote 'entitlement?' on a scrap of paper and pinned it. I put on my tan trench coat, donned my fedora and holstered my revolver. "Where do you work, Miss Cain? This is the part where the dashing detective hits the beat."

$19.39 and a 20-minute cab ride later we pulled up at a respectable jazz club, to which Cass allowed us easy access through the employees entrance. A blonde in a purple satin dress and her hair in a messy bun looked me up and down as I entered the changing rooms. "This your gumshoe, Cain?" she said, not quite judgemental, but wary. It's an abused turn of phrase to say that you shouldn't be nervous if you've got nothing to hide but in my line of work, it pays to be suspicious of everyone. Cass patted her shoulder. "I'd prefer no one die today, Stephanie. You'll be wanting to speak to Barbara, detective. She'll be waiting tables probably. Redhead, freckles, nice girl. Stick around, I have my set in a bit." I tipped my hat at Stephanie and moved out into the bar. The seats in the main area were sparsely populated and the bar was unsurprisingly empty - Monday nights are slow going everywhere in town. The redhead Cass described for me was, as promised, waiting tables, placing trays down then handing out glasses. Easy on the eyes but clearly distraught. I took a seat at the bar to wait and frowned. She was wearing so much perfume, it lingered in the air, even while she was away. She returned. "'Scuse me miss." She flicked her head up at me and rubbed her chest, as if startled. Clearly, I'd pulled her from some deep thought. "Oh... Hi there honey, what can I get you?" I shook my head and placed my hat on the table. "How about some answers?" Realisation crept over her face and she nearly dropped the glass, but caught it just in time. Barbara cleared her throat and leaned in real close, her fist pressed tightly against her chest, the scent of her perfume almost choking me. "Now listen, I want no trouble, so please, just..."

"Trouble? Oh no, no, no, I'm a private detective, Miss Cain is my client." She pulled back in shock. "Detective? Well, that's a welcome surprise. I guess you're here about the note."

"I was. What's trouble?" She waved me off, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. "Oh nothing. Let me get you a drink, on the house." OK, Row. You've been on no cases for almost three months. Let's see if you still got it. "I guess that chest injury is nothing too, huh?" Her grip tightened on the glass she placed in front of me. Jackpot. I instinctively pulled the bottle back to stop my glass from overflowing. My old man, asshole that he was, he was wise about not wasting perfectly good whiskey. Barbara whispered harshly at me. "Wh- how did you... Oh, never mind. Detective. Right." I raised the glass and winked at her. "Detective." She smiled back. "I changed my mind, P.I. Tell me how you did it, I wanna know." I took a sip. "When I called you, you looked up and rubbed your chest. Sudden movement caused your wound to shift and scrape against the cotton underneath your shirt, which I noticed when you leaned in to ask for no trouble. That sent a jolt of pain through you. The very well done stitching of your shirt is invisible to most but not someone who's entire job description revolves around spotting minor details. Your injury was caused by a narrowly avoided knife slash and sustained last week sometime - you've obviously had time to clean the shirt and tend to your wounds. As I watched you wait tables, you wouldn't bend down and hand out drinks as most do. You placed the tray on the table, then handed out drinks then moved off. You didn't want any questions in case someone noticed your hidden first aid efforts. Lastly, the copious perfume - to hide the metallic smell of dried blood. This much definitely isn't needed but you want to be 100% sure." She clapped lightly. "Very well done. It's true, I got mugged last week. I can't afford to be off this job by any cost. Stanton - uh, the owner of this joint - he'd say I was unfit to work and pull me off shifts. He means well, Stanton. Sometimes a little too well, see? Nevertheless, you've proven rudimentary skills, you may ask away." I took another sip and pulled my trusty notepad and pen from inside my jacket. "Who handed Ms. Cain the note once the shady man delivered it?"

"You'd have to ask the girls. I wasn't in this morning."

"Not time for your shift, I take it?"

"No."

"Babs- can I call you Babs?"

"Free country."

"Babs, what were you doing this morning? Everything from waking up to heading in for your shift."

"Come now detective, you don't think-"

"I just like to be thorough, Babs. This morning…?"

"I was at home all morning. Reading. Drinking coffee. Listening to the radio serials. If you'd like to be extra thorough, I can give you my address, you can ask my neighbour, Old Mrs. Lewinsky. I help her take out the trash."

"Truly a model citizen. What time did the man arrive?"

"I hear it was pretty early actually. We open at 8 and have a maintenance man come in at 7.00, just for some routine checks. Packed up at the usual time of 7.30, passed on the note. I assume Cassandra told you he wasn't keen on being noticed."

"Yeah, I got that impression."

"Anyway, he was out of here quick sharpish. By the time I got to work, police cars had surrounded the building. Guess when you've just threatened someone with murder, you can't exactly hang around." I laughed. "No, I suppose not." Barbara glanced over my face. "Something turning in your mind, detective?" Could say that. "Just… this all seems very clean and dry. Organised, ya know?" She leaned in close, her perfume attacking me once more. "You think this could be an inside job?" I nodded and finished my whiskey. "Always a possibility, doll. Mind if I question your colleagues?" She collected my glass and smiled as I headed off into the back rooms. It didn't take long to find my next interviewee, given her door was propped wide open. "Stephanie, was it?" The blonde looked up from applying her lipstick and smiled, as if she'd been expecting me. "Are you here to put me in handcuffs, detective?" she asked as she slowly sauntered over.

"Only if you've been bad."

"Oh, I've been a very bad girl."

"Then you won't mind if I take you in for questioning?"

"Not at all."

"Barbara told me a maintenance man does a half-hour routine check starting 7 in the PM, is that right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Is there a regular guy?"

"Regular guys. But yeah, we've gotten familiar with the roster. Assumed it was a new hire pretty much."

"I need the name of the engineer who was supposed to come in yesterday."

"Sure thing, gumshoe." She handed me the company's contact information and I thanked her. "And one more thing. I have a… friend. Works down at the coroner's. I'll phone ahead, try to get you a good look at one of the bodies. Maybe that'll help." I almost collapsed. I don't believe in coincidence, but I'm quite partial to luck and as they say, blondes are very lucky. OK, well no one says that but it's something I'd like started. On many cases I've taken, both when I was with police and since I struck out on my own, there's always been a blonde who had some vital information to help me solve it. "That'd be mighty big of you, Steph. Thank you so much." I left but she called out to me. "Oh, detective?" I turned at the door. She crossed the room, cornering me against the wall, sliding her hand across my chest and into my jacket pocket, dropping a card in. "You forgot one more number." She kissed me on the cheek, dragging her thigh up against mine. "Do call, won't you?" Flustered, I merely nodded and left. As I passed various singers in the tight back room corridors, either killing time until their set or just got in, I asked them who got handed the note until I reached Dinah. Another blonde. Older lady. Black dress that left a lot less to the imagination than was probably necessary, with fishnets. Easily the most attractive woman I've seen in my life. "Yeah. Creepy dude. Dressed as the maintenance guy. I got the door for him. Thought he was a new hire. Now he wants one of my girls six feet under." I asked for anything she could volunteer. Identifying marks. A certain inflection to his voice. Anything out of the ordinary. Hell, even if he smelled bad. Once again, thank god for blondes. My lucky charms. "Yeah, I remember. You meet some weirdos in Gotham, that's no secret. But this guy… had some kinda raspy, deep voice. The kind that makes a chill pound your spine. What looked like scars best I could see. Not sure what type of scars though." It wasn't a lot but it was something. It was enough. Scars narrow down the search a bit. And the specific voice helps a lot too. Now I had the man, I thought it best to find the motive. Steph got back to me with that coroner friend of hers. Don't know if I trust her yet, but she's been forthcoming thus far. Until then, I sat back and watched Cass's set.

She was divine.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, detective." Steph was telling the truth, for now. Turns out she really could get me in with a coroner. Her friend went by the name of Tim Drake, a tall, athletic man, handsome enough but very dishevelled and understandably smelled like death. Probably only gets sleep at the office. Hopefully, he wasn't married. Can't imagine the strain this job puts on long-term relationships. Cass had insisted on coming along for the ride and I put up no protest. "Me and a few of the others in the autopsy department have been trying to get the blues to look at some of these new findings but they're too self absorbed to pay attention to the freaks in the death lab. That damn pride of theirs, I s'pose." I patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Maybe they were told not to. Paid off?" Cass suggested. Corrupt cops are an obvious fact in Gotham. How it pertains to this case specifically, I'd need more clues, but an interesting note I filed away in my brain for later. "Maybe. But you're not here about bureaucracy. Do you mind not doing that?" Cass froze, a cigarette halfway out of the packet. I looked at her. "We're only here a bit, toots." She shrugged and pushed the cigarette back in. He pulled out a body drawer. If I recall from the papers, Maximilian Zeus. Latest victim. Tim lifted the left arm. "See here, along the forearm." A few deep brown flecks scattered along the skin. "Dried blood?" He shook his head. "Rust, detective. Rust. From chains. The way the wrist has been bruised and cut? Strapped down, most likely yanking to get out." My eyes were drawn to the chest and leaned closer, doing my best to ignore the smell. Pinpricks. Four, in a row, the black veins more prominent here. "Hey Doc, what do you make of these syringe wounds? Guess that supernatural theory the papers were throwing around ain't nothin." To my surprise, Cass spat at the mere mention of the tools. "Needles," she growled. "Terrified to death of the goddamn things and hate them twice as much too." Tim laughed. "No bad experiences, only bad doctors." She turned to go examine some other surgical devices. "Oh yeah. One very bad doctor." I went up to her. "Hey. You good?" She nodded and waved me off. "Just… bad memories, detective. Bad memories that leave a bad taste in my mouth." I didn't like seeing her like this but her dollars were put towards catching this guy, not playing therapist. So I patted her shoulder and went back to the body. "Well, detective you're trying to catch him. What do you make of the punctures?" I considered a moment. "The black veins… He's injecting them with something. Medical background, maybe. He's going through bodies, testing, refining and testing again. He won't stop until he's got the perfect formula and then… dispersion, I suppose." The coroner frowned. "Dispersion?" Before I could answer, the door burst open. "FREEZE!" A young man stood there, revolver drawn. Instinctively, I went for mine in return but Cass' hand stopped me as I realised the man was wearing a GCPD uniform. Tim was less reactive. "Officer, this is a coroner's office, I assure you the criminals you find here will not be signing a confession form any time soon." My knees went weak as a familiar voice approached. "Damian, put the gun down you loose cannon idiot. Go cool off and get some of that grease they call coffee." I stared in awe as Dick Grayson entered and I saw a similar reaction spark in him. "NOW, Damian." The rookie beat cop walked away, fuming. "Harper." I nodded at my old partner. "Sorry about him, he goes off sometimes."

"Well hey, if he likes almost empty cupboards and irritable landlords, the private investigator field is always open. It's why I quit." He laughed and closed the door behind him. "Damian is my new partner. Sometimes it's like you never left." We hugged and I pulled away as I processed what he had just said. "Wait, what happened to Jason?" Dick's face told me everything I needed to know. "I'm sorry. We were assigned a few cases together every now and then. He was a good man. We worked well together." I wiped away his tear. "This is my new client, Cassandra Cain." Dick exhaled and smiled and kissed the back of her hand, eliciting a giggle. I couldn't explain it but somehow that filled me with unfathomable jealousy. I interrupted a little more harshly than I had intended. "We're looking for the Bloodstream Butcher. She's apparently her next victim. We have four days to figure out how to stop him." Dick sighed. "Yeah, I know. Well, not this specifically." He gestured to Cass. "This is news to me, but it's why I'm here. You're not supposed to be here and you need to stop looking for the Bloodstream Butcher." Cass stepped in front of him. "Wh-what?" He placed a hand on her shoulder apologetically. "This is an ongoing police investigation, Harper. If you want to help us, you can provide us with whatever info you have already then but get off the case but you cannot arrest or shoot this guy." I wasn't mad. I could see it in his eyes, he knows this guy is a murderer and needs to be stopped. But his sense of justice is barricaded by his duty to do things by the book. I know what it's like to have the chief breathing down your neck. "I guess I could… take care of Ms. Cain. Talk to the Commissioner. Put her in a holding cell until the days are up." Honestly, I was about ready to agree, for old times' sake but a hand on my arm distracted me. Cass silently gripped my bicep and wouldn't let go. "I feel safer with her." She said, staring hard at Grayson. He stood there a moment and turned to leave, then paused. "You won't stop investigating, will you?" I shook my head. "Thanks to her, I eat this month and keep the lights on. I owe it to her to see this through." He pushed on the door but didn't walk through. "I'll tell the gang you said hey." He left. "Hey, Grayson!" His head peeked round the door. "We could be partners again you know." Dick smiled. "Someday."

Cass accompanied me home ("it's dangerous for pretty girls to walk the streets alone during the day," she had said) and we turned to my detective board. It didn't take us long to get everything pinned up and rearranged but eventually we had coherent notes. A torn sheet of paper on which I had written 'The Bloodstream Butcher' sat in the middle. From there I linked the threatening note, a note about the rust and a note about the puncture wounds. Another note with 'Suspects' written was attached, which is what we were trying to figure out. "Why is my name up there?" Cass looked mad at the fact I had put her name under suspects. "It just helps me think. I list everyone I've ever talked to since taking the case and cross off the obvious ones. Don't take it personal, doll." I scratched off her name, along with Dinah and Dick's. "So that just leaves Stephanie, the engineer guy (obviously the prime suspect) and Tim." She lay down on my couch and frowned. "Are you saying the creepy man who threatened my life… isn't the murderer?" I sighed and removed my already undone tie. "Look, obviously I think he is. It's pretty obvious he is. But I've been wrong before. He may just be a messenger. He can still be charged for accessory to murder but it might not be him doing the work." She got up and moved behind me, sliding her arms around my chest. "Mmm. Mighty fine work,detective. You got a taste for steak? Maybe Italian? I thought tonight, we could-" She jumped off of me as my apartment door flew open. This time, she didn't stop me as I grabbed my gun from its holster. "DAMIAN! STOP JUST BUSTING DOORS OPEN!" I lowered the revolver and Cass and I sighed in a strange mix of irritation and relief. "Dick? Is that you, honey?" Cass called out into the hallway. "Yes, it's me, Ms. Cain." He appeared in my doorway and pulled Damian's gun off him then sent him away. "I WILL make sure the chief takes damages to the detective's door out of your pay!" He yelled. I glanced at the door. The area around the doorknob was slightly splintered and the top hinge was torn off. Easily repairable myself but I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to have someone else do it. "What can I help you with, Grayson?" He exhaled deeply. "OK. Here's how it is. The mayor is coming down hard on the DA which means the DA is pressuring the Chief which means the Chief is pressuring the Commissioner which means the Commissioner is pressuring us. Now, the Chief is under the impression that we could… oh jeez, we could… I want you both to know, I think it's a terrible idea, and if it was up to me, I…" I squeezed his shoulder gently. "Hey, Dick. It's OK, take your time." He shook his head. Cass however, wasn't so forgiving. She pushed past me and slammed Dick into the wall.

"They want to use me as bait for the Butcher."

Will our determined detective stay true to her word? Or will she take pity on her oldest friend?

Can Cassandra admit how she feels about Harper before she meets her grisly fate?

Is Stephanie hiding something more sinister under that beautiful blonde exterior?

Find out on the next episode of…

Harper Row, World's Greatest Detective!

Same Bat-Time, Same Bat-Channel!


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